


hold you as the water rushes in

by smallblueandloud



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon Rewrite, Multi, POV Outsider, The Avengers (2012) - Freeform, and for clint's immediate post-avengers aftermath, canon typical descriptions of brainwashing, quarantine content, rated t for cursing, the soulmate au where writing on your skin shows up on your soulmate(s)'s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallblueandloud/pseuds/smallblueandloud
Summary: She pulls her arms out of the suit and puts her right arm on the table, forearm facing up. Clearly written on it are a set of coordinates and a string of non-English characters.“The coordinates are where we found Loki in Germany,” she says, staring at the numbers so she doesn’t have to see everyone’s reaction. “And the characters- they’re the same ones from Thor’s hammer. We couldn’t read them then, so there was no point in mentioning them earlier.”She finally looks up. Hill looks grimly unsurprised, Coulson pained. Rogers, Banner, and Stark are staring at her in various degrees of horror. And Thor just looks resigned.“The agent that Loki took... he’s your soulmate?” asks Rogers.(or, clint and natasha are soulmates. so's laura - but don't tell anyone.)
Relationships: Clint Barton/Laura Barton/Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov & Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 95





	hold you as the water rushes in

**Author's Note:**

> I WROTE THIS FIC IN THREE DAYS, IS ANYONE PROUD OF ME? i've been thinking about this concept for YEARS ever since i saw [this tumblr post](https://smallblueandloud.tumblr.com/post/628700808528199680/clintnatlaura-a-d-the-one-where-anything-written) and i'm so glad to have finally gotten to play in this sandbox, lmao. did not help with the craving for soulmate aus at ALL but hey at least you might get another fic like this at some point? that's good, right? right.
> 
> title is from "dancing with our hands tied", which is one of the most clintasha songs i've ever heard, especially the lines: "I'd kiss you as the lights went out / Swaying as the room burned down / I'd hold you as the water rushes in / If I could dance with you again". i once had a shot-for-shot image of a music video for them and this song in my head, oops. i hope this fic illustrates at least some of it.
> 
> there's a blink-and-you-miss-it reference to natasha being worried that clint is a suicide risk after the events of avengers. she locks down all the weapons in the apartment and threatens to have him put on suicide watch if he breaks into them. he agrees and it isn't mentioned again. it's in the two paragraphs after the words "she lets Clint shower first". take care of yourselves, y'all.
> 
> i hope you enjoy!

“I can’t get a read on you,” says Tony. He looks up at his new assistant. “Where did you say you were from again?”

Natalie Rushman smiles vaguely, dabbing a bit more concealer on his scrapes. “Legal.”

He frowns. “Yeah. Listen, this- this might be a bit personal, but do you have a soulmate?”

She sits back on the chair arm to examine her work. “Doesn’t everybody?”

He sighs. He’s dying, and he hasn’t told anyone, and every time Pepper uses their bond to remind him of an appointment he feels more guilty. “Yeah, but- have you met them? Are you together exclusively?”

“Why do you ask, Mr. Stark?”

“I’m just- I don’t know. There’s something weird about tonight.”

There’s something about her that makes him think she knows more than she’s saying, and it’s fascinating. But it means he’s trying to be even more careful about what he says around her.

Natalie sighs and runs her thumb over his cheek, looking thoughtful. “I have a soulmate, yeah. But he and I haven’t met, and we don’t speak very often.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

She shrugs one shoulder, a graceful movement. “We’ll meet when we meet.” A small smile forms on her face. “In the meantime, why not explore what else the world has to offer, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says, attempting a smile in response. Normally, he’d be very into her leaning over him and acting all seductive, but he’s preoccupied. Soulmates _mean_ something. Even he can’t pretend otherwise. Even he can’t ignore that something in the universe said that Pepper would be important to him in some way, and yet everything he does seems designed to push her away.

“Can I ask you a question?” he says, surprising even himself. When her gaze flits over him, he glances away. She’s going to realize what this is about, but he can’t even bring himself to care. “Hypothetically. If- if this was the last birthday party you were ever gonna have, how would you celebrate it?”

She frowns. Absently, she runs her hand over her forearm. There’s nothing there now, but it’s one of the most common spots for writing to show up.

Soulmates mean something to her too, apparently.

“I’d do whatever I wanted to do,” she says, looking into his eyes, “with whoever I wanted to do it with.”

* * *

“Tony,” says Pepper, walking into the lab. Tony looks up from JARVIS’ newest data collection to see her leading Agent Coulson in. “Tony, I’m going to leave Agent Coulson with you while I take this conference call.”

“I’m not his babysitter,” says Tony.

“Really, Ms. Potts, you can leave me upstairs on the couch,” says Coulson, infuriatingly bland as always. “I really don’t want to be an imposition.”

Pepper shakes her head, mischievous. “You two should really get to know each other better.”

As if he’s on her side, JARVIS closes all open windows and shuts down any displays that Coulson shouldn’t see. Tony wastes a precious second scowling at the ceiling before he turns back to Pepper, who looks like she’s laughing at them.

“Pepper, honey-”

Coulson is starting to look a little desperate. “Ms. Potts, really, it’s-”

“Have fun, boys!” she says, turning on a heel and walking out.

They stand there for a moment in silence before Tony finally sits down heavily on the nearest stool. “Why do I get the sense this is going to happen a lot in the future?”

Coulson stays standing. “Glad to see you two are doing well, at least.”

“What? Oh, yeah, she’s wonderful. Listen, Mr. Nondescript, I’m not going to share any designs or intel with you.”

“Contrary to popular belief, Mr. Stark, the world doesn’t revolve around you. I was here to meet with Ms. Potts about Stark Industries and S.H.I.E.L.D.’s continuing partnership.”

“Right,” says Tony, eyeing Coulson. He doesn’t offer him a seat. It’s been eight months since S.H.I.E.L.D. sent an agent to pose as his assistant and forced him to save his own life. Arguably, he should be over it by now, but since when has Tony ever done the reasonable thing?

“She’s probably right about us having to work together,” says Coulson, gesturing at him. “It makes sense that you don’t trust S.H.I.E.L.D. How about a trust exercise? _I’ll_ answer the questions this time.”

“How do I know that every word isn’t a lie?” asks Tony.

Coulson shrugs. “I can’t give you classified information, but I’ll do my best to answer honestly.”

“Sure,” says Tony, staring at him. He can’t ask about anything real, because Coulson will have to lie, and it’ll just piss both of them off. Tony was actually in kind of a good mood before Coulson walked through his door, and he wants to keep that as much as possible.

“Who was the agent you sent to pretend to be my secretary?”

Coulson blinks, but it only takes him a moment to collect himself. “Natasha? She’s a S.H.I.E.L.D. operative specializing in undercover work. She’s known as the Black Widow in the intelligence community.”

“Of course,” says Tony, knowing JARVIS is collecting all of this. “And is she soulmated?”

“That’s pretty personal,” says Coulson.

“Indulge me,” says Tony, spreading his hands. “Agent- Romanoff, was it? She ran my life for a while. I’m not asking for anything said in confidence, but if there’s anything that’s public knowledge...”

Coulson sighs. “Her soulmate is Clint Barton, another operative, and it’s general knowledge around S.H.I.E.L.D. They have protocols for contact while undercover, which is why you didn’t see anything on her skin.”

Tony frowns. “They don’t make contact at _all?_ ”

“I didn’t say that,” says Coulson. “I said they have a system worked out, but I’m going to have to draw the line there.”

“Right. Of course,” says Tony. He looks down and clears his throat. “Thank you. Now, how did you say you got someone into my Legal department?”

* * *

“I mean, if it’s not too much trouble,” says Coulson.

Steve shakes his head. Helicarriers, gods, aliens... those he’s impressed by. But he knows how to deal with starstruck. “No, no, it’s fine.”

“It's a vintage set,” says Coulson. Steve watches as Agent Romanoff walks in, towards the bank of computers in front of them, and crouches to explain something to one of the techs. “It took me a couple of years to collect them all.”

The bald tech types something from Agent Romanoff’s instructions into his computer and waits for it to load. About halfway through the progress bar, something lights up green.

“Near mint, slight foxing around the edges, but-”

“Sir, we’ve got a hit on Loki’s facial recognition,” says the tech, standing up as he watches his screen. “Sixty-seven percent match. Wait- cross match, seventy-nine percent.”

Coulson’s demeanor instantly shifts. “Location?”

“Germany,” says the tech. “He’s not exactly hiding.”

Steve watches Agent Romanoff walk out and wonders how she got Loki’s coordinates.

* * *

“So he's building another portal,” says Banner, in the first helicarrier meeting that actually includes everyone. “That's what he needs Erik Selvig for.”

“Selvig?” asks Thor, looking up.

“He’s an astrophysicist.”

“He’s a _friend,_ ” he says.

Natasha shifts her weight. “Loki has him under some sort of spell, along with one of ours.”

“I want to know why Loki led us to him,” says Rogers. “He's not leading an army from here.”

“I don't think we should be focusing on Loki,” says Bruce, shaking his head. “That guy's brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him.”

Thor frowns. “Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he's my brother.”

Rogers puts his hands on the table. “He led us right to him. Why?”

“He could’ve not known about cameras,” says Stark. “I’ll fly you out there,” he says quietly to Coulson. “Help keep love alive.”

Thor shakes his head. “Loki has done foolish things, but he is not a fool.”

“His agents would’ve warned him about surveillance, too,” says Rogers.

Stark puts his palms up. “I’m just playing devil’s advocate here. It’s not like he put up much of a fight.”

“He wants to be here,” says Natasha.

Everyone turns to her.

“How do you know that?” asks Hill. Maria Hill, one of the only two in the room who know that Natasha never makes any conclusions without evidence.

Natasha takes a deep breath and starts to unzip her tac suit.

“Woah!” says Stark, putting his hands up.

“There are undershirts under everything I wear, Stark,” says Natasha, rolling her eyes. “Stop embarrassing yourself.”

She pulls her arms out of the suit and puts her right arm on the table, forearm facing up. Clearly written on it are a set of coordinates and a string of non-English characters.

“The coordinates are where we found Loki in Germany,” she says, staring at the numbers so she doesn’t have to see everyone’s reaction. “And the characters- they’re the same ones from Thor’s hammer. We couldn’t read them then, so there was no point in mentioning them earlier.”

She finally looks up. Hill looks grimly unsurprised, Coulson pained. Rogers, Banner, and Stark are staring at her in various degrees of horror. And Thor just looks resigned.

“The agent that Loki took... he’s your soulmate?” asks Rogers.

Natasha breathes out through her nose. She hates being so public about it, even though it was her idea in the first place. “Yes. Clint Barton.”

Stark makes a soft sound of recognition. Natasha remembers, absently, that he’d asked Coulson about her soulmate a few months ago.

Thor reaches out to her arm but doesn’t touch it. “This is my brother’s writing.”

“There’s no hope that the coordinates were Barton trying to warn us?” asks Hill. “Copied something from Loki’s papers, or something?”

Natasha swallows her instinctive revulsion. “No, Loki wrote the second line.”

Thor swears, quietly. Even Tony looks freaked out.

Coulson - who Natasha knows has experienced this, the one time May was taken hostage - doesn’t walk over and put a hand on her shoulder, but that’s only because they both know it would only make her more uncomfortable. She’s already off balance from worry about Clint and having to read three brand new personalities. Public displays of- anything, really, would only make this moment of vulnerability worse.

“You can feel it, huh?” asks Banner, rubbing an ink stain that wasn’t there at the beginning of the meeting.

“Yes,” says Natasha, as curtly as she can. “There’s a taboo for a reason. Thor, can you read what it says?”

Thor clears his throat. “An ant has no quarrel with a boot. Neither does a spider, little Widow.”

“Well, that’s pretty unambiguous,” says Stark. Banner’s weight shifts uncomfortably. Rogers just looks righteous.

Natasha very carefully does not have any reaction. She glances up to meet Hill’s eyes. “Since we already have all the information we need from this...”

Hill nods. Natasha leaves them to their discussion about strategy and slips out the back door towards the bathroom, gathering the top half of her tac suit in her arms as she walks. She has to wash this off. She _needs_ to wash this off. She generally doesn’t have strong emotional reactions to anything considered “taboo”, but something about this whole soulmate business has bypassed that rule completely.

It’s off-putting. And it’s made even worse because she’s not _used_ to feeling off-put.

She reaches the bathroom and closes the door behind her, locking it and flipping the light switch. She meets her own eyes in the mirror as she turns on the faucet and begins to scrub the words off her skin. Even the new sensation doesn’t help with the way her brain is replaying the feeling of someone else, someone _unknown_ writing on her skin. Getting too close, touching her in a way she doesn’t want. She can almost feel the phantom breath on her shoulder.

She couldn’t even feel it, besides the pricking sensation of any new mark. The sense of touch doesn’t transfer over a bond. It wasn’t _her_ skin.

Does it help that Clint - or whoever’s in Clint’s brain right now - was fine with it?

Not really. Natasha has been in Clint’s position before. It’s not any fun during and it’s even worse after.

Once the last traces of ink have washed off, she counts to three, then pulls out her burner and types in a number from memory. It rings twice while she pulls the suit up and over her shoulders, and then-

“Natasha?”

As well trained as Natasha is, something in her still relaxes at the sound of it. “Hey, Laura.”

“You washed it off.”

“Finally got a translation,” she says. “Some middle-grade taunting, directed at me.”

Laura exhales, long and slow. “That’s not good, Nat.”

Natasha zips up the front of her tac suit, watching herself in the mirror. She wishes she were with Laura right now, so she could see beneath the brave faces they’re both putting on. “We have a protocol for this. Clint gives _me_ up. If there’s any bit of him still in there, he’ll remember that.”

“It’s not good for _you_ , though.”

“I can take care of myself. Both of us protect you and the kids. He and I can take any hits as long as you three are safe.”

“Yeah,” says Laura, quietly. “And he’d have to be in there, somehow. He missed Fury and Hill at close range.”

Natasha shakes her head, closing her eyes. She hates having to be the pessimistic one, but it’s her job. “Brainwashing like this is always weakest at the beginning. We can’t rely on Clint having any control at this point. You’re secure, right?”

“Nowhere you know about, yeah,” says Laura. “Lila’s napping and Cooper’s watching Ratatouille again. We’re safe, although I’m going out of my mind with worry.”

Natasha laughs. The sound is unexpectedly wet. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Every inch of her longs to be out of here, back home with Clint and Laura and their kids, but there’s no point in dwelling on impossibilities.

“Nat-” says Laura, and Natasha opens her eyes. “Nat, do you think-”

“I’m going to do my best to bring him home,” says Natasha. “I’m going to do everything I can. If anyone knows how to overcome brainwashing, it’s us, right?”

Laura laughs, a little louder than the joke warrants. “Yeah.” She doesn’t ask Natasha to promise it. Both of them know she can’t. “You’ll let me know, right?”

“The usual signal,” she says. Three dots on the nape of the neck. Chosen because both Natasha and Clint would have to be safe to be able to draw it - one on the other’s skin. It’s not a signal you can draw on your own. Which makes for a decent metaphor, but she doesn’t want to think about that right now.

The sound of Laura’s breathing over the phone does more to calm Natasha down than the last two days of waiting. They sit there in precious silence for a few seconds before Natasha sighs. “Laur, I have to-”

“Promise me you’ll come home,” interrupts Laura. “Promise me I’ll get you back, Tasha. I don’t want to lose both of you.”

“Laura, you know-”

“Promise me,” insists Laura. “You’re my soulmate, Natasha. Don’t leave me with the canvas all to myself.”

Canvas: the poetic way that she always uses to refer to their shared skin. Laura, the consummate artist. The first thing about her that Natasha fell in love with.

She takes a deep breath. “I promise.”

* * *

Natasha starts to pour some water. “You gotta level out. It’s gonna take time.”

“You don’t understand,” says Clint, his head rustling against the chair as he shakes it. His voice still sounds tentative, like he’s not fully back yet. “Have you ever had someone take your brain and play?” He takes a deep breath. “Pull you out and pour something else in? Do you know what it's like to be unmade?”

She sets down the cup, still facing the wall. “You know that I do.”

Clint doesn’t say anything for a moment. She knows he’s recalibrating. She knows every step of this process. She’s been doing it since they met. He just has to level out. He’s going to be okay, as long as he levels out.

That’s what she’s here for.

“Why am I back?” he asks, as she abandons the cup and goes to sit on the bed. “How did you get him out?”

“Cognitive recalibration.” She examines the cuffs, then glances up to smile at him. “I hit you really hard on the head.”

“Thanks,” says Clint, sounding surprised.

That cinches it for her. Her entire job is reading people, and there’s no one she knows better than Clint Barton. If this is Loki pretending to be him, then she deserves whatever he’s going to do when she takes the cuffs off.

She unfastens the first one. He doesn’t move, but he says, “Tasha. How many agents?”

“Don’t.” She shakes her head, refusing to look up from the velcro. “Don’t do this to yourself, Clint. This isn’t- this isn’t anything we’ve ever dealt with before.”

“Right, _you’re_ telling me that?” asks Clint. When she glances up at him, he’s smiling faintly in apology. “Did he get away?”

“Yeah,” says Natasha. “Don’t suppose you can tell me where?”

“Don’t know.” He pulls up his wrist and rubs at it with his other hand. “Didn’t need to know. Didn’t ask. He’s going to make his play today, though.”

“We have to stop him,” she says.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks. “Who’s we?”

He’s only teasing because the alternative is despair, and both of them know it. There’s going to be a fallout for both of them, but as long as he can hold it off until they deal with Loki, they’ll be okay.. “I don’t know. Us. Whoever’s left.”

Clint frowns. “Well, if I put an arrow through Loki’s eye socket, I suppose I’d sleep better.”

Natasha smiles more genuinely than she has since she left for the Luchkov mission. God, she’s missed him. “ _Now_ you sound like you.”

He smiles at her, tightly, then starts to do the usual inspection of his arms for notes. There won’t be any, but her heart drops anyway at the thought of them speaking with Laura, putting her at risk. She trusts Clint with her own life, but the kids-

“How much do you remember?”

He looks back up at her. “Bits and pieces. The parts he- I- the parts that seemed important at the time. I didn’t-”

His expression turns panicked. “I don’t remember. I mean, I’m pretty sure I managed it, but- Natasha, I’m not sure. Tell me I held it together. Tell me I didn’t say-”

“You held it together,” says Natasha, putting her hand on his shoulder. “You did exactly what we planned. I went in to interrogate him, and he had everything on me. Even Drago’s daughter.”

“Shit,” says Clint. “He was in deep. And I still-”

“I told him love was for children, and he didn’t say anything,” says Natasha. “They’re safe. I’ve talked to Laura a few times. Cooper is watching Ratatouille again.”

Clint laughs despite himself, looking down and shaking his hand. When he speaks, it sounds like he’s close to tears. “Is it bad to say that I’d prefer fighting the megalomaniac alien god than watching that movie one more time?”

“Probably,” says Natasha, tilting her head, “but I won’t tell if you won’t. Come here.”

She beckons with her hand, and he starts to lean towards her before he realizes what she’s doing and turns around. She picks up a pen from the tray and marks three dots on the nape of his neck, making sure to swirl them so Laura can’t miss the prickling that comes with a new mark.

When she’s finished, she runs her thumb over the skin. “They’re fine.”

“Of course they are,” says Clint. He turns back around to face her. “Laura’s smarter than the two of us put together. You know that.”

“Don’t you forget it,” says Natasha, and then feels a prickling on the back of her hand.

She always feels it before Clint. She looks up to see his face as the first stroke appears, mirrored on both of their left hands.

 _I love you,_ it says, in Laura’s messy, familiar print. It immediately smears and vanishes - Laura knows better than to let them both walk around with something that damning in plain view.

Clint swallows. “Nat, I’m-”

“It’s okay,” she says, putting a hand on his knee. “It’s okay. We’re going to figure it out. We’ve done this before, remember? I’m not going to let you hurt them.”

“Right,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Right,” says Natasha. “It’s going to be okay.”

* * *

They manage to stumble into the shawarma place, all six of them - Natasha with her messed-up ankle, Clint holding off an impending breakdown, Banner barely managing to stay in the oversized clothing they found for him, Stark directly after cardiac arrest, Rogers looking every bit the American legend he is, and literal god Thor. The owner thanks them profusely for their service and tells them their food is free.

Natasha catches Stark stuffing a literal wad of hundred dollar bills behind the counter, but she doesn’t say anything. At least this way of dealing with his massive case of survivor’s guilt benefits the masses.

Clint catches her attention from under the table and signs, “Does he just keep those in the suit?”

She usually has more control over her facial expressions, but it takes all of her exhausted willpower to keep a straight face as she replies, making sure to keep her hands under the table. “Last-ditch effort to defeat aliens: throw money at them until they leave.”

They seem to have managed being quiet about the signing, because no one else comments on it. Or maybe they’re all just too exhausted to say anything. The six of them spend about thirty minutes eating in silence, and it’s only as Natasha is mopping up the last of her yogurt sauce that she feels the prickling on the crease behind her knee.

She looks up at Clint, but he gives her one imperceivable shake of the head and then looks away.

She sighs and drops her napkin. “Well, boys, this has been fun. I’ll be back in a minute.”

The hallway to the bathroom is wide, which is helpful for limping. She blesses the ADA as she makes her way inside and then locks the door, sinking down onto the floor with her legs stretched out in front of her.

She pulls out her burner phone and dials. “Hey.”

“Sorry to pull you out of whatever you were doing,” says Laura. “But the news has been talking about the quote ‘aftermath’ for forty five minutes now and I figured cleanup didn’t take this long. Are you-” She hesitates. “I saw arrows in the coverage.”

“He’s with me,” says Natasha. “He’s- he’s mostly himself. He’s spooked, obviously, and he’s being more cagey than usual. But he made a joke about Stark earlier, and his aim was perfect.”

“Alright,” she says. Natasha can imagine her swallowing as she tries to pull things together. Natasha doesn’t know where they are, but she knows Laura’s every expression, every gesture. “Are we-”

“He didn’t out you,” says Natasha. “I gave Loki the opening and he didn’t take it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Laura exhales slowly. “Good. When are you coming home?”

“Not sure,” says Natasha. “There’s going to be a lot of debriefing. Clint’s going to need some time to find his stride again, make sure he’s not a risk. I-”

Her throat closes up. It’s not a secure location. There’s augmented people outside. Her side of the conversation always has to have plausible deniability, and she doubts she’d ever say anything tender to Maria Hill.

There’s a million reasons why she can’t risk it.

Sometimes she wishes she wasn’t so good at her job. But Laura and the kids staying safe is more important than anything she feels, and she can’t forget that.

“I’ll let you know when I’m somewhere more secure so we can have a longer conversation, alright? Maybe this time it can be about _cars_ and not _restaurants_.”

Laura chuckles. “Asshole. It’s not actually a _bad_ movie, for one about a French chef that’s a rat. But I actually got him to read a book today.”

Natasha smiles, probably fonder than she should. “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” says Laura, quietly. Then: “You got my message, right?”

“Yes,” says Natasha. “We were in one of the helicarrier medical rooms. He appreciated it more than he could say, I think.”

“Good,” says Laura. “I’m- Natasha, don’t let him hide from us, okay? You know how this works. Don’t let him do what you do.”

“He’s not going to do what I do,” says Natasha, shaking her head. “It’s different for everyone. That’s what’s got me worried.”

* * *

When they get to Natasha’s New York safehouse, after preliminary medical clearing and a brief conversation with Fury, she lets Clint shower first.

With the brace on, she can walk pretty well, and she manages to get all of the weapons secured in the fifteen minutes it takes for him to shower. When he gets out, only bothering with one hearing aid, she leans against the counter and says, “All the weapons are stored. You can probably get into them if you try, but don’t do it, because I can and will have you put on watch. Are we clear?”

“We’re clear,” says Clint, but he doesn’t sound happy about it.

She ignores him and takes a twenty minute shower, relishing the feeling of hot water against her sore muscles. She pulls on a tank top, leggings, and the brace for her ankle, then goes out to collect Clint and get him into bed.

They both fall asleep immediately. It’s about four hours later when the first of the nightmares start, but there’s nothing she can do to help besides grounding him with touch. He waves her off, splashes warm water on his face, and lies back down. It takes him forty five minutes to relax back into sleep.

He only wakes her up once more that night, but she knows there’s more she managed to sleep through. It’s an unhealthy combination: her exhaustion and her instinctive trust in him. That, and his inconvenient habit of dreaming quietly.

The next morning, she drags them both out of bed at nine and makes coffee and toast.

“What, no eggs?” Clint asks, looking down at his plate, but the joke falls flat. There are bags under his eyes. Selvig had reported to Fury that Loki didn’t let them sleep. There was barely time to eat, apparently, but that was around the time she’d stopped reading the briefing summary.

Natasha rolls her eyes to convey fond exasperation and hands him the pan. “You make them.”

They trade places. She sits at the counter in comfortable silence while he scrambles eight eggs. She’d thought this was gone forever. She’d thought he was gone forever. She’s not looking forward to having to bully him into a healing process, but at least they still have this.

She lets herself lose track of time until he turns around, triumphant, with pan in hand. “Success!”

“Bravo,” says Natasha, grinning at him. He dishes them out and sits next to her at the kitchen counter as they both devour the food.

This is their oldest tradition, breakfast together the day after a mission. She almost wishes she doesn’t have to ruin it, but someone has to breach the silence and it isn’t going to be him.

“We need to call Laura.”

He does an admirable job of hiding it, but there’s a flinch. “It’s still pretty early over there.”

“She wants to hear from you,” says Natasha. “She won’t mind. Besides, Lila’s been sleeping weird for the past few weeks, remember? She’s up early most days anyway.”

“Nat-” says Clint.

“What?” says Natasha. “You should talk to your wife.”

“I’m doing that right now, aren’t I?” says Clint. “And Laura’s your wife too. Why don’t you talk to her while I do the dishes?”

Natasha sets down her fork. “Do you really expect me to buy this shit?”

“Not really,” says Clint, glancing down at his plate. “I was hoping you’d see how desperate I am and drop it.”

“Sorry, dumbass,” says Natasha, “but you’re not getting off this that easy. You don’t get to hole up in this safe house and ignore the rest of the world. _Especially_ not Laura.”

Clint stays silent.

Natasha sighs and turns to him. “Clint, we have _kids._ Are you planning on speaking to them at some point in the future?”

“Of course,” he mutters. “I just-”

He runs his hands over his face. “I can’t trust myself around you, Natasha. I’m constantly watching myself to make sure I’m not going to do something to you. And you’re _you._ I couldn’t hurt you if I tried. Imagine with Laura. With _Cooper and Lila._ I’m not- I’m not ready to consider how I’d try to kill them so I can figure out how to stop it, Natasha. I can’t do that.”

She sighs. That’s it, then.

That’s what he’s lost.

It’s going to be hard for him to regain his trust in himself again. Natasha trusts herself, if only because her thoughts have always been her own. For her, the problem always lies in other people.

She reaches out and puts a hand on the small of his back. “I’m going to ask you some questions. I’m not trying to judge you. I’m trying to find your boundaries, so I need you to answer honestly. Okay?”

He takes a deep breath. “Okay.”

“You don’t want to see them in person, right?”

“Right.”

“What’s wrong with a phone call?”

His shoulders tense, slightly. “I don’t- I don’t know. Take your pick. It feels too exposed. It feels too close to being in person. I’m worried that Laura will be too vulnerable, that knowing the phone number will tell me where she is and then-”

He stops.

“We’ll work up to it,” says Natasha. “Too exposed, huh?”

“People could be listening.”

She lifts her hand off his back and with the other reaches out across the counter. “What about the most secure form of communication we have?”

She holds up a pen.

He doesn’t immediately flinch, which is progress, but he still frowns. “Nat, do I really have to-”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” she says. “Don’t pretend you don’t know the answer to that.”

Clint sighs, hesitates, and holds his hand out for the pen. “Okay.”

Natasha watches him as he looks at his right forearm for a long moment, the pen uncapped but still. Finally, he looks up at her and makes a give-it-here gesture. “Not without you.”

“Okay,” she says, and gives him her arm.

She’s not sure if it’s the closeness, or the awareness that even a pen could do serious damage in the hands of an enemy, or the soulbond itself: whatever the cause, one of her soulmates writing on her skin always feels more intense than doing it on her own.

Clint hesitates over her arm for a moment, before he leans over and begins to write. _Hey._

They can’t expect Laura to reply immediately - it’s still relatively early in the morning where she is, even if she’s up with Lila. While they wait, Natasha wraps her fingers around his wrist, making sure to keep her forearm bared.

“It’s- this is good,” she says. “I know it doesn’t feel that way. I know- Clint, you know how I know this feels.”

He looks down. “Yeah.”

“But isolating yourself doesn’t solve anything.”

He glances up, giving her a small smile. “But what if I want to try it? You know, just in case. It might this time.”

“Asshole,” she says, fondly. Then she feels a prickling on her arm, and they both glance down to watch the words form.

 _Clint,_ Laura’s written. _Hi._

He takes a deep breath and uncaps the pen. _I’m okay._

_I’m really glad._

_Nat says that I need to level out._ It feels voyeuristic for Natasha to watch him write, even as the glide of the pen on her skin leaves goosebumps in its wake. Instead, she watches the words form on his own forearm, handing at his side. There’s almost no delay. _But I don’t trust myself to do it at home._

_Nat says you’re-_

Laura stops writing. Natasha can imagine what she wants to say. _Natasha says you’re clear. Natasha says there’s nothing to worry about. Listen to Natasha. Just come_ home.

She says nothing of that. Instead, Laura starts to write on the other side of her arm, forcing Natasha to turn over hers in turn. _I trust you,_ she writes, the letters the same clunky and inconsistent sizes they’ve always been. Laura is an artist, but she’s always had terrible handwriting, and Natasha loves it about her. _If you don’t think you’re ready, I trust your judgement._

Clint exhales, hard. He doesn’t do anything for a second, just tracing his hand over the letters. Finally, he writes, _I love you._

_I love you too. You’re on Natasha’s arm right now, right?_

_Yes._

_Nat, sorry to third-wheel you. I love you so much._

Natasha smiles, and reaches out to take the pen. _I’m not feeling left out, don’t worry._

“We’re going to run out of space,” says Clint. He takes back the pen.

“I’ve got it,” says Natasha, standing.

Clint pulls up his own arm. _Please hold._

Natasha walks over to the sink and turns on the water to wash everything off. The water drips down, dark with ink, and she thinks about how closely they’re linked. She never thought she’d be able to trust anyone like this. She never thought she’d have this, and yet here they are.

The moment she’s done drying off her arm, Clint starts to write again. She watches the lines form as she walks back to her stool. _It felt like he pulled me out of my own body, and I was just watching everything that happened. I don’t feel like I can trust my body to obey my actions. I don’t feel like I can trust that he’s gone. It feels..._

He hesitates, glancing up at Natasha. She nods.

 _Like he’s still in my head, just waiting. I’m making contingency plans for everything he could do with my hands. If I don’t trust myself around Natasha_ \- he underlines her name for emphasis - _who can take me down in three seconds, I don’t want to be around the kids._

Laura doesn’t respond for a long moment. Finally, she writes, _I know. I’m just_ \- she hesitates - _going to miss you. I need you to talk to me. I need to know what’s going on._

Natasha grabs the pen, glancing up with Clint to check that it’s okay. She pulls his forearm close to her, balanced on her knee, and starts to write. _Don’t worry, I won’t let him retreat into himself._ He chuckles, and she looks up to grin at him. _He doesn’t want to talk to them yet, but I can take some long-distance parenting duty._

 _Good,_ writes Laura. _Lila keeps asking for you. Cooper has been coping well with missing you guys, but he doesn’t like losing his routines._

Clint doesn’t seem to want to respond to that, so Natasha keeps the pen. _You guys are headed home, right?_

He sucks in a breath, but Laura doesn’t hesitate in responding. _Yeah, we’re going to start driving today. I probably shouldn’t tell you how far away this place is, but we’ll be back by the evening._

“Clint,” says Natasha, looking up at him. “You can handle knowing that they’re at home. I promise I won’t let you go there until we both think you’re secure, okay?”

He exhales, nodding quickly. “Yeah. Okay.”

 _We’re in the New York safehouse,_ writes Natasha. _We’re not going into S.H.I.E.L.D. for a few days, probably. Just going to hang out here and build healthy habits._

_If you two watch Life of Pi without me..._

Both Clint and Natasha snort. _No date nights without you,_ writes Natasha, _except watching shitty sitcoms._

_Damn right._

Natasha looks up at Clint and offers him the pen. After a moment’s hesitation, he takes it. _Laur,_ he writes, and then stops.

“Cooper’s probably going to wake up soon,” he says.

She lets the excuse lie. “Probably.”

He looks back down at his arm. _I don’t know how long this is going to take, but I’m not going to give up. We’re going to come home. I promise._

 _Good,_ writes Laura. _I’m going to hold you to that._

Natasha reaches out and takes Clint’s hand. “You’re under orders, dumbass. You’ve got that?”

“Yes ma’am,” says Clint, smiling crookedly at her. There’s still a lot of ground to cover, and the aftermath of New York to clean up, and a million things in the future Natasha doesn’t know how to deal with.

But the three of them are bound together though something deeper than anything else she’s ever known. She thinks they can figure out the rest.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to sara and aleena for listening to my liveblogging of writing this <3 come talk to me [on tumblr](https://smallblueandloud.tumblr.com) about this ship because i love them so MUCH and i have so many THOUGHTS about them. i really enjoyed writing this fic, and if you want to see more of them please feel free to prompt me! also, check out the [fic tag](https://smallblueandloud.tumblr.com/tagged/fic%3A-hold-you-as-the-water-rushes-in) for all the behind the scenes posts, lmao.
> 
> (yes i did fix these notes the day after i posted. they were messy. you're welcome.)
> 
> stay safe, y'all. love you.


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